SB    33T    DbD 


1 


GEORGE  WILLIAM  CURTIS 


Two  hundred  aud  fifty  copies  of  this  edition  were 
on  hand-made  paper,  March,  1893. 


/>•"/  2'    //?• 


GEORGE  WILLIAM    CURTIS 
As  lu-  looked  when  I  first  saw  hiin.-W.  W. 


GEORGE  WILLIAM  CURTIS 


DELIVERED  BEFORE  THE  PEOPLE  OF  STATS  If 

ISLAND,  AT  THE  CASTLETON,  ST.  GEORGE, 

FEBRUARY  24,  1893 


BY 

WILLIAM   WINTER 


"  Now  is  the  stately  column  broke, 
The  beacon-light  is  quenchM  in  smoke, 
The  trumpet's  silver  sound  is  still, 
The  warder  silent  on  the  hill." 

SIR  WALTER  SCOTT 


PRINTED  FOR  THE 

CURTIS  COMMEMORATION  COMMITTEE, 
OF  STATEN   ISLAND, 

BY 

MACMILLAN    AND   CO. 

NEW   YORK  AND    LONDON 


COPYRIGHT  1893 

BY 
MACMILLAN  &  CO. 


GEORGE  WILLIAM  CURTIS. 


This  brilliant  throng,  this  daz 
zling  array  of  eager  faces,  this 
gentle,  fervent  welcome — they  are 
not  for  me.  They  are  for  another. 
They  proclaim  your  affectionate 
devotion  to  a  gracious  figure  that 
has  passed  from  this  world;  a 
voice  that  is  silent ;  a  face  that 
here  will  shine  on  you  no  more. 
And,  surely,  if  the  souls  of  the 
departed  are  aware  of  anything 
upon  this  earth,  if  those  ties  of 
affection  still  subsist,  without 


2          GEORGE  WILLIAM  CURTIS, 

which  life — whether  here  or  else 
where — would  be  worthless,  his 
sacred  spirit  descends  upon  this 
place,  to-night,  and  sees  into  your 
hearts  and  rejoices  in  your  love, 
and  knows  this  hour  and  hallows 
it. 

In  the  days  of  my  youth  I  was 
often  privileged  to  sit  by  the 
fireside  of  the  poet  Longfellow. 
He  was  exceedingly  kind  to  me, 
and  with  his  encouragement  and 
under  his  guidance  I  entered 
upon  that  service  of  literature 
to  which,  humbly  but  earnest 
ly,  my  life  has  been  devoted. 
Longfellow  possessed  a  great 
and  peculiar  fascination  for 
youth.  He  was  a  man  who  nat- 


GEORGE   WILLIAM   CUKTIS.  3 

urally  attracted  to  himself  all 
unsophisticated  spirits  ;  and — as 
I  did  not  then  know,  but  subse 
quently  learned — he  was  a  man 
who  naturally  attracted  to  him 
self  all  persons  who  were  intrin 
sically  noble.  His  gentleness  was 
elemental.  His  tact  was  inerrant. 
His  patience  never  failed.  As  I 
recall  him  I  am  conscious  of  a 
beautiful  spirit;  an  altogether 
lovely  life ;  a  perfect  image  of 
continence,  wisdom,  dignity, 
sweetness,  and  grace.  In  Long 
fellow's  home — the  old  Craigie 
mansion  at  Cambridge — on  an 
autumn  evening  nearly  forty 
years  ago  was  assembled  a  bril 
liant  company  of  gay  ladies  and 


4          GEORGE  WILLIAM   CURTIS. 

gallant  gentlemen  ;  and  as  I  en 
tered  the  large  drawing-room, 
which  now  I  believe  is  the  library, 
one  figure  in  particular  attracted 
my  gaze.  It  was  a  young  man, 
lithe,  slender,  faultlessly  appar 
elled,  very  handsome,  who  rose 
at  my  approach,  turning  upon 
me  a  countenance  that  beamed 
with  kindness  and  a  smile  that 
was  a  welcome  from  the  heart. 
His  complexion  was  fair.  His 
hair  was  brown,  long,  and  waving. 
His  features  were  regular  and  of 
exquisite  refinement.  His  eyes 
were  blue.  His  bearing  was  that 
of  manly  freedom  and  unconven 
tional  grace,  and  yet  it  was  that 
of  absolute  dignity.  He  had  the 


GEORGE   WILLIAM   CURTIS.  5 

manner  of  the  natural  aristocrat — 
a  manner  that  is  born,  not  made  ; 
a  manner  that  is  never  found  ex 
cept  in  persons  who  are  self-cen 
tred  without  being  selfish  ;  who 
are  intrinsically  noble,  wholly  sim 
ple  and  wholly  true.  I  was  in 
troduced  to  him  by  Longfellow  : 
and  then  and  thus  it  was  that 
I  first  beheld  George  William 
Curtis.  From  that  hour  until  the 
day  he  died  I  was  honored  with 
his  friendship — now  become  a  hal 
lowed  memory.  That  meeting 
was  more  than  once  recalled  be 
tween  us  ;  and  as  I  look  back  to 
it,  across  the  varied  landscape  of 
intervening  years,  I  see  it  as  a 
precious  and  altogether  excep- 


6          GEORGE   WILLIAM   CURTIS, 

tional  experience.  It  was  a  hand 
dispensing  nothing  but  blessings 
which  bestowed  that  incomparable 
boon — the  illustrious  and  vener 
ated  hand  of  the  foremost  poet  of 
America.  It  was  the  splendid 
magnificence  of  Longfellow  that 
gave  the  benediction  of  Curtis. 

It  is  not,  however,  only  because 
he  was  a  friend  of  mine  that  I 
have  been  asked  to  speak  of  him 
in  this  distinguished  presence.  It 
is  because  he  was  a  friend  of 
yours,  whom  you  loved  and  hon 
ored  living  and  whom  you  de 
plore  in  death.  It  is  because  he 
was  a  great  person  whose  lot 
was  cast  in  this  community,  and 
because  this  community  is  wish- 


GEORGE  WILLIAM   CURTIS.  7 

iul  to  listen  to  even  the  hum 
blest  voice  that  can  be  raised 
in  his  honor.  Not  indeed  that 
his  name  requires  eulogy.  The 
career  of  Curtis  is  rounded  and 
complete.  The  splendid  struc 
ture  of  his  character  stands  be 
fore  the  world  like  a  monument 
of  gold.  It  is  not  for  his  sake 
that  our  tribute  is  laid  upon  the 
shrine  of  memory;  it  is  for  our 
own.  When  the  grave  has  closed 
over  one  whom  we  love,  our 
hearts  instinctively  strive  to  find 
a  little  comfort  in  the  assurance 
that  while  it  was  yet  possible  to 
manifest  our  affection  we  did  not 
fail  to  do  so.  'We  were  never 
unkind'  (so  the  heart  whispers), 


8          GEORGE  WILLIAM   CURTIS. 

*  we  were  never  neglectful ;  we 
were  always  appreciative  and 
sympathetic  and  true,  and  he  was 
aware  of  our  fidelity  and  found 
a  pleasure  in  it.'  By  thoughts 
like  those  the  sharpness  of  grief 
is  dulled  and  the  sense  of  loss 
is  made  less  bitter.  With  that 
motive  this  assemblage  has  con 
vened, — in  order  that  here,  amid 
the  scenes  that  he  knew  and 
loved;  here,  within  a  few  paces 
of  the  home  that  was  so  beauti 
ful  and  is  now  so  lonely ;  here, 
in  the  hall  from  which  the  echoes 
of  his  melodious  voice  have 
scarcely  died  away,  his  neighbors 
and  friends,  bringing  their  gar 
lands  of  gentle  remembrance  and 


GEORGE  WILLIAM   CURTIS. 

lender  affection,  may  utter  bless 
ings  on  his  name.  It  is  the 
spirit  of  resignation  for  which 
we  seek,  and  with  it  the  satisfac- 
f  action  of  our  sense  of  duty. 
Not  to  express  homage  for  a 
public  benefactor  would  be  to 
fail  in  self-respect.  Not  to  rev 
erence  a  noble  and  exemplary 
character  is  to  forego  a  benefit 
that  is  individual  as  well  as 
social.  Nowhere  else  can  so 
much  strength  be  derived  as 
from  the  contemplation  of  men 
and  women  who  pass  through 
the  vicissitudes  of  human  expe 
rience, — the  ordeal  of  life  and 
death, — not  without  action  and 
not  without  feeling,  but  calmly 


10        GEORGE  WILLIAM   CURTIS. 

and  bravely,  without  fever  and 
without  fear.  There  is  nothing 
greater  in  this  world,  nor  can 
there  be  anything  greater  in 
the  world  to  come,  than  a 
perfectly  pure  and  true  and  res 
olute  soul.  When  the  old  Scotch 
Lord  Balmerino  was  going  to 
the  block,  on  Tower  Hill,  —  in 
expiation  of  his  alleged  treason 
to  the  House  of  Hanover, — he 
spoke  a  few  great  words,  that 
ought  to  be  forever  remembered. 
"  The  man  who  is  not  fit  to  die," 
he  said,  "is  not  fit  to  live." 
That  was  the  voice  of  a  hero. 
An  image  of  heroism  like  that 
is  of  inestimable  value,  and  it 
abides  in  the  human  soul  as  a 


GEORGE  WILLIAM   CURTIS.        11 

perpetual  benediction.  In  Shake 
speare's  tragedy,  when  the  foes 
of  Brutus  are  seeking  to  cap 
ture  him  on  the  field  of  battle, 
his  friend  Lucilius,  whom  they 
have  already  taken,  denotes,  in 
two  consummate  lines,  the  same 
inspiring  ideal  of  superb  sta 
bility: 

"  When    you    do   find    him,  or    alive 

or  dead, 

He  will  be  found  like  Brutus,  like 
himself." 

That  might  always  have  been 
said  of  Curtis.  That  was  the 
man  whom  we  admired  and 
loved.  That  was  the  character 
we  do  ourselves  the  justice  to 


12       GEORGE  WILLIAM  CURTIS. 

celebrate  and  reverence  now.  In 
every  duty  faithful ;  in  every 
trial  adequate ;  in  every  attri 
bute  of  nobility  perfect — 

"  He  taught  us  how  to  live,  and — oh, 

too  high 
The  price  for  knowledge! — taught  us 

how  to  die." 

And  that  announces  to  you 
the  substance  and  the  drift  of 
my  discourse.  It  is  not  the 
achievement  of  Curtis  that  now 
lingers  most  lovingly  in  the 
memory — it  is  the  character. 
The  authoritative  and  final 
word  upon  his  works  will  be 
spoken  by  posterity.  For  us  it 
is  enough  that,  we  remind  each 


GEORGE   WILLIAM  CURTIS.        13 

other   of   what   we   already  know 
of  the  man.  ..."  When  .a  neigh 
bor     dies"     (so     Curtis     himself 
wrote,   in    his    wise    and    sympa 
thetic   sketch  of   the  beloved  and 
lamented      Theodore     Winthrop), 
"  his    form     and     quality    appear 
clearly,   as   if   he   had   been   dead 
a  thousand   years.      Then  we  see 
what   we    only   felt   before.      He 
roes   in   history    seem    to    us    po 
etic  because  they  are  there.     But 
if  we  should  tell  the  simple  truth 
of     some     of     our     neighbors     it 
would   sound   like   poetry."   .  v  ; 
The    simple    truth    about    Curtis 
has   that    sound    now,   and    more 
and  more  it  will  have  that  sound 
as     time     proceeds.       It     is     the 


14        GBOEGE   WILLIAM   CUIlTIS. 

story  of  a   man  of   genius  whose 
pure     life     and    splendid    powers 
were  devoted    to   the  ministry  of 
beauty    and    to    the    self-sacrific 
ing     service     of     mankind.       The 
superficial    facts     of     that     story, 
indeed,    are    familiar    and    usual. 
It   was   the    inspiration     of    them 
that  made  them  poetic — that  pro 
found,  intuitive  sense   of   the  ob 
ligation     of    noble    living    which 
controlled  and  fashioned   and   di 
rected     his     every     thought    and 
deed.      The   incidents    customary 
5n    the   life   of    a   man   of    letters 
are      scarcely      more      important 
than  were   the  migrations   of  the 
Vicar     of     Wakefield     from     the 
brown  bed  to  the  blue  and  from 


GEORGE  WILLIAM  CURTIS,        15 

the  blue  bed  back  again  to  the 
brown.  He  moves  from  place 
to  place  ;  he  has  ill  fortune  and 
good  fortune ;  he  gains  and 
loses ;  he  rejoices  and  suffers ; 
he  writes  books  :  and  he  is  never 
justly  appreciated  until  he  is 
dead.  Curtis  was  a  man  of  let 
ters,  born  sixty-nine  years  ago 
this  day,  in  our  American  Venice, 
the  New  England  city  of  Provi 
dence  ;  born  nearly  two  months 
before  the  death  of  Byron  (so 
near,  in  literature,  we  always  are 
to  the  great  names  of  the  past), 
— and  a  boy  of  eight  in  that 
dark  year  which  ended  the  illus 
trious  lives  of  Goethe  and  Sir 
Walter  Scott.  It  has  been  usual 


16        GEORGE   WILLIAM   CURTIS. 

to  ascribe  the  direction  of  his 
career  to  the  influence  of  his 
juvenile  experience  at  Brook 
Farm,  in  Roxbury,  where  he 
resided  from  1840  to  1844;  but 
it  should  be  remembered  that 
the  Brook  Farm  ideal  was  in  his 
mind  before  he  went  there — the 
ideal  of  a  social  existence  regu 
lated  by  absolute  justice  and 
adorned  by  absolute  beauty.  In 
that  idyllic  retreat — that  earthly 
Eden,  conceived  and  founded  by 
the  learned  and  gentle  George 
Ripley  as  a  home  for  all  the 
beatitudes  and  all  the  arts  — 
and  later,  at  Concord,  his  young 
mind,  no  doubt,  was  stimulated 
by  some  of  the  most  invigo- 


GEORGE  WILLIAM  CURTIS.       17 

rating  forces  that  ever  were 
liberated  upon  human  thought : 
Theodore  Parker,  who  was  in 
carnate  truth ;  the  mystical  spirit 
of  Channing ;  the  resolute,  in 
trepid,  humanitarian  Dana  ;  the 
sombre,  imaginative  Hawthorne  ; 
the  audacious  intellect  and  indom 
itable  will  of  Margaret  Fuller  ; 
and,  greatest  of  all,  the  heaven- 
eyed  thought  of  Emerson.  But 
the  preordination  of  that  mind 
to  the  service  of  justice  and 
beauty  and  humanity  was  ger 
minal  in  itself.  Curtis  began 
wisely,  because  he  followed  the 
star  of  his  own  destiny.  He  was 
wise,  in  boyhood,  when  he  went 
to  Brook  Farm.  He  was  wiser 


18       GEORGE   WILLIAM  CURTIS. 

still  in  early  manhood, — having 
formally  adopted  the  vocation 
of  literature, — when  he  sought 
the  haunted  lands  of  the  Ori 
ent,  and  found  inspiration  and 
theme  in  subjects  that  were 
novel  because  their  scene  was 
both  august  and  remote.  On 
that  expedition,  consuming  four 
precious  years,  he  penetrated 
into  the  country  of  the  Nile 
and  he  roamed  in  Arabia  and 
Syria.  He  stood  before  the 
Sphinx  and  he  knelt  at  the 
Holy  Sepulchre  in  Jerusalem. 
It  is  a  privilege  to  be  able  to 
add — since  he  was  an  American 
— that  he  did  not  endeavor  to 
be  comic.  When,  in  later  days, 


GEOBGE   WILLIAJC   CURTIS.        10 

my  friend  Artemus  Ward  went 
to  the  Tower  of  London  he 
looked  upon  the  Traitor's  Gate, 
and  he  remarked  that  apparent 
ly  as  many  as  twenty  traitors 
might  go  in  abreast.  It  was 
funny — but  to  a  reverent  mind 
the  note  is  a  discordant  note. 
Curtis  was  a  humorist,  but  he 
was  not  the  humorist  who  grins 
amid  the  sculptures  of  Westmin 
ster  Abbey.  He  was  a  humorist 
as  Addison  was,  whom  he  much 
resembled.  He  looked  upon  life 
with  tranquil,  pensive,  kindly 
eyes.  He  exulted  in  all  of 
goodness  that  it  contains ;  he 
touched  its  foibles  with  bland, 
whimsical  drollery  ;  he  would 


20       GEORGE  WILLIAM   CURTIS. 

have  made  all  persons  happy  by 
making  them  all  noble,  serene, 
gentle,  and  patient.  Such  a 
mind  could  degrade  nothing. 
Least  of  all  could  it  degrade 
dignity  with  sport,  or  antiquity 
with  ridicule.  He  looked  at  the 
statue  of  Memnon  and  he  saw 
that  "  serene  repose  is  the  atti 
tude  and  character  of  godlike 
grandeur."  "  Those  forms,"  he 
said,  "  impress  man  with  him 
self.  In  them  we  no  longer  suc 
cumb  to  the  landscape,  but  sit, 
individual  and  imperial,  under 
the  sky,  by  the  mountains  and 
the  river.  Man  is  magnified  in 
Memnon."  He  stood  among  the 
ruined  temples  of  Erment  and 


GEORGE   WILLIAM  CURTIS.        21 

he  saw  Cleopatra,  glorious  in 
beauty  upon  the  throne  of  Rame- 
ses,  and  he  uttered  neither  a 
scrap  of  morality  nor  a  figment 
of  jest.  "  Nothing  Egyptian," 
he  said,  "is  so  cognate  to  our 
warm  human  sympathy  as  the 
rich  romance  of  Cleopatra  and 
her  Roman  lovers."  ..."  The 
great  persons  and  events,"  he 
added,  "  that  notch  time  in  pass 
ing  do  so  because  Nature  gave 
them  such  an  excessive  and  ex 
aggerated  impulse  that  wherever 
they  touch  they  leave  their 
mark  ;  and  that  intense  human 
ity  secures  human  sympathy  be 
yond  the  most  beautiful  balance, 
which,  indeed,  the  angels  love 


22       GEORGE  WILLIAM   CURTIS, 

and  we  are  beginning  to  appreci 
ate."  That  was  the  spirit  in  which 
he  rambled  and  saw  and  wrote. 
"  The  highest  value  of  travel,"  he 
urged,  "is  not  the  accumulation 
of  facts,  but  the  perception  of 
their  significance."  In  those  true 
words  he  made  his  comment,  not 
simply  upon  the  immediate  and 
local  scene,  but  upon  the  whole 
wide  stage  of  human  activity 
and  experience.  He  was  wise, 
when  he  began  to  labor  for  the 
present,  thus  to  fortify  himself 
with  the  meaning  of  the  past. 
Those  early  books  of  his,  the 
"Nile  Notes"  and  the  "Howadji 
in  Syria," — which  have  been  be 
fore  the  world  for  more  than 


GEORGE  WILLIAM  CURTIS.        23 

forty  years, — will  always  be  a 
refreshment  and  a  delight.  They 
glow  with  the  authentic  vitality 
of  nature, — her  warmth,  and  col 
or,  and  copious  profusion,  and 
exultant  joy, — and  they  are  buoy 
ant  with  the  ardor  of  an  auspi 
cious  and  yet  unsaddened  soul. 
But  they  are  exceptionally  pre 
cious  now,  for  their  guidance  to 
the  springs  of  his  character.  In 
the  "  Syria "  there  is  a  passage 
that,  perhaps,  furnishes  the  key 
to  his  whole  career.  He  is  speak 
ing  of  successful  persons,  and  he 
says  this :  .  .  .  "  Success  is  a 
delusion.  It  is  an  attainment — 
but  who  attains  ?  It  is  the  hori 
zon,  always  bounding  our  path 


24        GEORGE   WILLIAM   CURTIS. 

and  therefore  never  gained.  The 
Pope,  triple-crowned,  and  borne, 
with  flabella,  through  St.  Peter's, 
is  not  successful,— for  he  might 
be  canonized  into  a  saint.  Pyg 
malion,  before  his  perfect  statue, 
is  not  successful, — for  it  might 
live.  Raphael,  finishing  the  Sis- 
tine  Madonna,  is  not  success 
ful, — for  her  beauty  has  revealed 
to  him  a  finer  and  an  unattain 
able  beauty."  ...  In  those  words 
you  perceive,  at  the  outset,  the 
spirit  of  comprehensive,  sweet, 
and  tolerant  reason  that  was  ever 
the  conspicuous  attribute  of  his 
mind.  Those  words  denote,  in 
deed,  the  inherent  forces  that 
governed  him  to  the  last — per- 


GEORGE   WILLIAM   CURTIS.        25 

ception  and  practical  remem 
brance  of  what  has  already  been 
accomplished,  and  the  realization 
that  human  life  is  not  final 
achievement  but  endless  endeavor. 
In  early  days  Curtis  wrote 
verse,  as  well  as  prose.  As  late 
as  1863  he  delivered  before  the 
Sons  of  Rhode  Island  a  poem 
of  418  lines,  entitled  "  A  Rhyme 
of  Rhode  Island  and  the  Times." 
In  that  occurs  his  impassioned 
paean  for  the  Flag  of  the  Re 
public  : 

"  At  last,  at  last,  each  glowing  star 

In  that  pure  field  of  heavenly  blue, 
On  every  people  shining  far, 
Burns,     to    its     utmost     promise 
true.   , 


26       GEORGE  WILLIAM  CURTIS. 

4  And    when    the    hour    seems    dark 

with   doom 

Our  sacred  banner,  lifted  higher. 
Shall     flash     away    the     gathering 

gloom 
With   inextinguishable  fire. 

"Pure  as  its  white  the  future  see! 

Bright  as  its  red   is  now  the  sky ! 
Fixed  as    its    stars  the    faith    shall 

be 

That    nerves    our  hands  to  do  or 
die!" 

Those  are  but  three  of  the 
eight  stanzas.  They  show  his 
patriotic  ardor,  and  they  also 
show  the  felicity  of  his  diction 
in  verse.  That  felicity  is  still 
further  manifested  in  another 


GEORGE   WILLIAM  CURTIS.        27 

characteristic  passage,  denoting 
that  in  the  eighteenth-century 
manner  he  also  could  have  been 
expert,  if  he  had  cared  to  pur 
sue  it  : 


•'  Admonished,    by    life's     fluctuating 

scene, 
Of  all   he   is  and  all  he  might  have 

been, 
Man,    toiling    upward    on    the    dizzy 

track, 
Still    looks    regretful    or    remorseful 

back; 
Paces    old  paths,   remembering   vows 

that  rolled 

In    burning  words    from    hearts    for 
ever  cold ; 
Bows    his    sad  head  where    once  he 

bowed  the  knee 


28        GEORGE  WILLIAM  CURTIS. 

And    kissed    the    lips   that    no   more 

kissed    shall  be. 
So    the    sad   traveller    climbing  from 

the  plain 
Turns    from    the    hill    and    sees    his 

home  again, 
And  sighs  to  know  that,— this  sweet 

prospect  o'er, — 
The  boundless  world  is  but  a  foreign 

shore." 

A  certain  frenzy  is  inseparable 
from  the  temperament  of  the 
poet.  He  must  not  yield  his 
mind  absolutely  to  its  control, 
but  he  must  be  capable  of  it 
and  he  must  guide  and  direct 
its  course.  He  must  not,  with 
Savage  and  with  Burns,  abdi 
cate  the  supremacy  of  the  soul. 


GEORGE   WILLIAM   CURTIS.        29 

He    must,    with    Shakespeare   and 
with   Goethe  (to  borrow  the  fine 
figure  of  Addison),  "ride  on  the 
whirlwind  and  direct  the  storm." 
The  conduct  of  his  life  must  not 
be   a   delirium;   but    the   capacity 
of    delirium    must,    inevitably,    be 
a    part    of    his    nature.     Conven 
tionality     is     bounded      by     four 
walls.     Unless    the   heart    of    the 
poet     be     passionate     he     cannot 
move    the   hearts   of   others:   and 
the  poet  who  does  not  touch  the 
heart    is    a    poet    of    no    impor 
tance.     Curtis  was  a  man  of  deep 
poetic  sensibility.     In  that  idyllic 
composition,    "  Prue    and    I,"   the 
poetic    atmosphere    is    invariably 
sustained     and     it    is     invariably 


30        GEOIIGE   WILLIAM   CURTIS. 

beautiful.  The  use  of  poetic 
quotation,  wherever  it  occurs, 
throughout  his  writings,  is  re 
markably  felicitous — as  in  his 
book  that  we  know  as  "  Lotus- 
Eating,"  written  in  1851 — and  it 
manifests  the  keenest  apprecia 
tion  of  the  poetic  element.  His 
analysis  of  the  genius  of  Bry 
ant,  in  his  noble  oration  before 
the  Century  Club  in  1878,  is 
not  less  subtle  than  potential, 
and  it  leaves  nothing  to  be  said. 
His  perception  of  the  ideal — as 
when  he  wrote  upon  Hamlet, 
with  the  spiritual  mind  and 
prince-like  figure  of  Edwin 
Booth  in  that  character — was 
equally  profound  and  compre- 


GEORGE  WILLIAM  CURTIS.        31 

hensive,  and  as  fine  and  delicate 
as  it  was  unerringly  true.     There 
can   be   little   doubt   that  he   was 
conscious,  originally,  of  a  strong 
impulse   toward   poetry,    but    that 
this   was  restricted   and  presently 
was  diverted  into  other  channels, 
partly  by  the  stress  of  his  philo 
sophical  temperament,  and  partly 
by  the    untoward    force    of    iron 
circumstance.       His      nature    was 
not    without    fervor ;    but    it    was 
the    fervor   of    moral    and   spirit 
ual    enthusiasm,    not    of    passion. 
His    faculties    and    feelings    were 
exquisitely   poised,  and  I   do   not 
think    there   ever    was    a   time   in 
all     his    life    when     that     perfect 
sanity   was   disturbed  by   any   in- 


32       GEORGE   WILLIAM  CURTIS. 

ordinate  waywardness  or  any 
blast  of  storm.  The  benign  and 
potent  but  utterly  dispassionate 
influence  of  Emerson  touched  his 
responsive  spirit,  at  the  begin 
ning  of  his  career,  and  beneath 
that  mystic  and  wonderful  spell 
of  Oriental  contemplation  and 
bland  and  sweet  composure  his 
destiny  was  fulfilled.  Like  grav 
itates  to  like.  Each  individual 
sways  by  that  power,  whatsoever 
it  be,  to  which  in  nature  he  is 
the  most  closely  attuned.  The 
poetic  voice  of  Emerson  was  the 
voice,  not  of  the  human  heart, 
but  of  the  pantheistic  spirit : 

"  As  sunbeams  stream  through  liberal 
space, 


GEORGE   WILLIAM   CURTIS.        33 

And  nothing  jostle  nor  displace, 
So  waved  the  pine-tree  through  my 
<  - ,        thought, 

And    fanned   the    dreams    it    never 
brought." 

In  Curtis  the  poetic  voice  was 
less  remote  and  more  human  ;  but 
it  was  of  the  same  elusive  qual 
ity.  It  was  not  often  heard.  It 
sounded  very  sweetly  in  his  tender 
lyric  of  other  days  : 

"  Sing  the  song  that  once  you  sung, 
When  we  were  together  young, 
When  there  were  but  you  and  I 
Underneath  the  summer  sky. 

"  Sing  the  song,  and  o'er  and  o'er — 
But  I  know  that  nevermore 
Will  it  be  the  song  you  sung 
When  we  were  together  young." 


34       GEORGE   WILLIAM  CURTIS, 

There  can  be  no  higher  mission 
than  that  of  the  poet,  but  there 
are  many  vocations  that  exact 
more  direct  practical  effort  and  in- 
volve  more  immediate  practical 
results.  One  of  those  vocations, 
meanwhile,  had  largely  absorbed 
the  mind  of  Curtis, 

To  people  of  the  present  day  it 
would  be  difficult  to  impart  an  ad 
equate  idea  of  the  state  of  politi 
cal  feeling  that  existed  in  New 
England  forty  years  ago.  The 
passage  of  the  Fugitive  Slave  Act, 
which  was  regarded  as  the  cul 
mination  of  a  long  series  of 
encroachments,  had  inspired  a 
tremendous  resentment,  and  the 
community  there  was  seething 


GEORGE   WILLIAM   CURTIS.        35 

with  bitterness  and  conflict.  The 
novel  of  "  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin  "  had 
blazoned  the  national  crime  of 
slavery,  and  had  aroused  and  in 
flamed  thousands  of  hearts  against 
it,  as  a  sin  and  a  disgrace.  Theo 
dore  Parker — that  moral  and  intel 
lectual  giant — was  preaching  in 
the  Boston  Music  Hall.  The  pas 
sionate  soul  of  Thomas  Starr  King 
poured  forth  its  melodious  fervor 
in  the  old  church  in  Hollis  Street. 
Sumner,  and  Phillips,  and  Wilson, 
and  Giddings,  and  Hale,  and  Bur- 
lingame,  in  Faneuil  Hall  and  ev 
erywhere  else,  were  pleading  the 
cause  of  the  slave  and  the  purifi 
cation  of  the  flag.  The  return  of 
Anthony  Burns  from  Boston,  in 


36        GEORGE  WILLIAM   CUKTIS. 

June,  1854, — when  the  court-house 
was  surrounded  with  chains  and 
soldiers,  and  when  State  Street 
was  commanded  with  cannon, — 
although  perfectly  legal,  was  felt 
by  every  freeman  as  an  act  of 
monstrous  tyranny,  and  as  the 
consummation  of  national  shame. 
The  murderous  assault  on  Sumner, 
committed  in  the  United  States 
Senate  chamber  by  Brooks  of 
South  Carolina,  had  aroused  all 
that  was  best  of  manly  pride 
and  moral  purpose  in  the  North, 
and  from  the  moment  when  that 
blow  was  struck  every  man  who 
was  not  blinded  by  folly  knew  that 
the  end  of  human  slavery  in  the 
Republic  must  inevitably  come. 


GEOEGE  WILLIAM   CURTIS.        37 

There  never  had  been  seen  in  our 
political  history  so  wild  a  tide  of 
enthusiasm  as  that  which  swept 
through  the  New  England  States, 
bearingonward  the  standard  of  Fre 
mont,  in  1856.  Statesmen,  indeed, 
there  were — foreseeing  and  dread 
ing  civil  war — who  steadily  coun 
selled  moderation  and  compromise. 
Edward  Everett  was  one  of  those 
pacificators,  and  Rufus  Choate  was 
another.  Choate,  in  Faneuil  Hall, 
delivered  one  of  the  most  enchant 
ing  orations  of  his  life,  in  solemn 
and  passionate  warning  against 
those  impetuous  zealots  of  freedom 
who— as  he  beheld  them— were 
striving  to  rend  asunder  the  col 
ossal  crag  of  national  unity,  al- 


38       GEOfiGE   WILLIAM   CURTIS. 

ready  smitten  by  the  lightning  and 
riven  from  summit  to  base.     And 
it  must  be  admitted— and  it  needs 
no  apology— that   the    conviction 
of  generous  patriotism  in  those  wild 
days  of  wrath  and  tempest  was  the 
conviction     that    a   Union     under 
which  every  citizen   of  every  free 
State  was,  by  the  law,  made  a  hun 
ter  of  negro  slaves  for  a  Southern 
driver,  was  not  only  worthless  but 
infamous.      Conservatives,   cynics, 
mercenary,    scheming    politicians, 
and  timid  friends  of  peace  might 
hesitate,  and  palter  with  the  occa 
sion,  and  seek  to  evade  the  issue  and 
postpone    the    struggle  ;    but    the 
general  drift  of  New  England  sen 
timent  was  all  the  other  way.    Old 


GEORGE  WILLIAM   CURTIS.        39 

political  lines  disappeared.  The 
everlasting  bickerings  of  Protes 
tant  and  Catholic  were  for  a  mo 
ment  hushed.  The  Know-Nothings 
vanished.  The  thin  ghosts  of  the 
old  silver-gray  Whig  party,  led  by 
Bell  and  Everett,  moaned  feebly 
at  parting  and  faded  into  air. 
Elsewhere  in  the  nation  the  lines 
of  party  conflict  were  sharply 
drawn  ;  but  in  New  England 
one  determination  animated  every 
bosom  —  the  determination  that 
human  slavery  should  perish.  The 
spirit  that  walked  abroad  was  the 
spirit  of  Concord  Bridge  and. Bun 
ker  Hill.  The  silent  voices  of 
Samuel  Adams  and  James  Otis 
were  silent  no  more.  "My  ances- 


40        GEORGE   WILLIAM   CURTIS. 

tor  fell  at  Lexington,"  said  old 
Joel  Parker — then  over  threescore 
years  of  age—''  and  I  am  ready  to 
shed  more  of  the  same  blood  in 
the  same  cause."  It  was  a  tremen 
dous  epoch  in  New  England  his 
tory,  and  we  who  were  youths  in 
it  felt  our  hearts  aflame  with  holy 
ardor  in  a  righteous  cause.  I  was 
myself  a  follower  of  the  Pathfinder 
and  a  speaker  for  him,  in  that 
stormy  time, — assailing  Choate  and 
Caleb  Gushing  and  other  giants 
of  the  adverse  faction,  with  the 
freedom  and  confidence  that  are 
possible  only  to  unlimited  moral 
enthusiasm.  What  a  different  world 
it  was  from  the  world  of  to-day  ! 
How  sure  we  were  that  all  we  de- 


GEORGE  WILLIAM   CURTIS.        41 

sired  to  do  was  wise  and  right ! 
How  plainly  we  saw  our  duty,  and 
how  eager  we  were  for  the  onset 
and  the  strife  !  If  we  could  only 
have  foreseen  the  beatific  con 
dition  of  the  present,  I  wonder  if 
that  zeal  would  have  cooled.  Some 
of  us  have  grown  a  little  weary  of 
rolling  the  Sisyphus  stone  of  be 
nevolence  for  the  aggrandizement 
of  a  selfish  multitude,  careless  of 
everything  except  its  sensual  en 
joyment.  But  it  was  a  glorious 
enthusiasm  while  it  lasted;  and,  as 
poor  Byron  truly  said, 

"  There's  not  a  joy  the  world  can  give 

like  that  it  takes  away, 
When  the  glow  of  early  thought  de 
clines  in  feeling's  dull  decay." 


42         GEOHUE   WILLIAM   CURTIS. 

Into  that  conflict,  of  Right 
against  Wrong,  Curtis  threw  him 
self  with  all  his  soul.  His  reputa 
tion  as  a  speaker  had  already  been 
established.  He  had  made  his 
first  public  address  in  1851  before 
the  New  York  National  Academy 
of  Design — discussing  "  Contem 
porary  Artists  of  Europe," — and  in 
1853  he  had  formally  adopted  the 
Platform  as  a  vocation  ;  and  it 
continued  to  be  a  part  of  his  vo 
cation  for  the  next  twenty  years. 
He  was  everywhere  popular  in  the 
lyceum,  and  he  now  brought  into 
the  more  turbulent  field  of  politics 
the  dignity  of  the  scholar,  the  re 
finement  and  grace  of  the  gentle 
man,  and  all  the  varied  equipments 


GEORGE   WILLIAM  CURTIS.        43 

of  the  zealous  and  accomplished 
advocate,  the  caustic  satirist,  and 
the  impassioned  champion  of  the 
rights  of  man.  I  first  heard  him 
speak  on  politics — making  an  ap 
peal  for  Fremont — at  a  popular 
convention  in  the  town  of  Fitch- 
burg.  It  was  on  a  summer  day, 
under  canvas,  but  almost  in  the 
open  air.  The  assemblage  was 
vast.  Curtis  followed  Horace 
Greeley  —  with  whose  peculiar 
drawl  and  rustic  aspect  his  prince- 
like  demeanor  and  lucid  and  so 
norous  rhetoric  were  in  wonderful 
contrast.  Neither  of  those  men 
was  wordly-wise  ;  neither  was 
versed  in  political  duplicity. 
Greeley,  no  doubt,  had  then  the 


44        GEORGE  WILLIAM   CD'HTIB. 

advantage  in  political  wisdom  ; 
but  Curtis  was  the  orator — and, 
while  Curtis  spoke,  the  hearts  of 
that  multitude  were  first  lured  and 
entranced  by  the  golden  tones  of 
his  delicious  voice,  and  then  were 
shaken,  as  with  a  whirlwind,  by 
the  righteous  fervor  of  his  mag 
nificent  enthusiasm.  It  was  the 
diamond  morning  blaze  of  that 
perfect  eloquence  which  some  of 
you  have  known  in  its  noonday 
splendor,  and  all  of  you  have 
known  in  its  sunset  ray.  He 
continued  to  speak  for  that  cause 
— everywhere  with  great  effect ; 
and  down  to  the  war-time,  and 
during  the  war-time,  the  prin 
ciples  which  are  at  the  basis  of 


GEORGE   WILLIAM   CURTIS.        45 

the  American  Republic  had  no 
champion  more  eloquent  or  more 
sincere.  He  abandoned  the  plat 
form  as  a  regular  employment  in 
1873 ;  but — as  we  all  gratefully 
remember— he  never  altogether 
ceased  the  exercise  of  that  match 
less  gift  of  oratory  for  which  he 
was  remarkable  and  by  which  he 
was  enabled  to  accomplish  so 
much  good  and  diffuse  so  much 
happiness. 

In  this  domain  he  came  to  his 
zenith.  The  art  in  which  Curtis 
excelled  all  his  contemporaries  of 
the  last  thirty  years  was  the  art 
of  oratory.  Many  other  authors 
wrote  better  in  verse,  and  some 
others  wrote  as  well  in  prose. 


46        GEORGE   WILLIAM   CURTIS. 

Hawthorne,  Motley,  Lowell,  Whip- 
pie,  Giles,  Mitchell,  Warner,  and 
Stedman  were  masters  of  style. 
But  in  the  felicity  of  speech 
Curtis  was  supreme  above  all 
other  men  of  his  generation.  My 
reference  is  to  the  period  from 
1860  to  1890.  Oratory  as  it  ex 
isted  in  America  in  the  previous 
epoch  has  no  living  representative. 
Curtis  was  the  last  orator  of  the 
great  school  of  Everett,  Sumner, 
and  Wendell  Phillips.  His  model 
— in  so  far  as  he  had  a  model 
—was  Sumner,  and  the  style  of 
Sumner  was  based  on  Burke. 
But  Curtis  had  heard  more  magi 
cal  voices  than  those— for  he  had 
heard  Daniel  Webster  and  Rufus 


GEORGE   WILLIAM   CURTIS.        47 

Choate  ;    and     although    he    was 
averse  to    their   politics,  he  could 
profit  by  their  example.     Webster 
and   Choate— each    in    a   different 
way— were     perfection.     The   elo 
quence    of    Webster   had    the    af 
fluent    potentiality   of    the    rising 
sun  ;  of    the   lonely  mountain  ;  of 
the      long,      regular,      successive 
surges  of  the  resounding  sea.     His 
periods  were  as  lucid  as  the  light. 
His    logic    was     irresistible.      His 
facts  came  on  in  a  solid  phalanx  of 
overwhelming   power.     His    tones 
were      crystal-clear.      His      mag 
nificent  person  towered  in  dignity 
and  seemed  colossal  in  its  imperial 
grandeur.        His     voice    grew    in 
volume,  as  he  became   more   and 


48        GEORGE  WILLIAM  CURTIS. 

more  aroused,  and  his  language 
glowing  with  the  fire  of  cog 
viction,  rose  and  swelled  and 
broke,  like  the  great  ninth  wave 
that  shakes  the  solid  crag.  His 
speech,  however,  was  addressed 
always  to  the  reason,  never  to 
the  imagination.  The  eloquence 
of  Rufus  Choate,  on  the  other 
hand,  was  the  passionate  en 
chantment  of  the  actor  and  the 
poet — an  eloquence  in  which  you 
felt  the  rush  of  the  tempest,  and 
heard  the  crash  of  breakers  and 
the  howling  of  frantic  gales 
and  the  sobbing  wail  of  homeless 
winds  in  bleak  and  haunted  re 
gions  of  perpetual  night.  He 
began  calmly,  often  in  a  tone 


GEORGE   WILLIAM  CURTIS.        49 

that  was  hardly  more  than  a 
whisper ;  but  as  he  proceeded 
the  whole  man  was  gradually 
absorbed  and  transfigured,  as 
into  a  fountain  of  fire,  which 
then  poured  forth,  in  one  tumult 
uous  and  overwhelming  torrent 
of  melody,  the  iridescent  splen 
dors  of  description,  and  appeal, 
and  humor,  and  pathos,  and  in 
vective,  and  sarcasm,  and  poetry, 
and  beauty — till  the  listener  lost 
all  consciousness  of  self  and  was 
borne  away  as  on  a  golden  river 
flowing  to  a  land  of  dreams. 
The  vocabulary  of  that  orator 
seemed  literally  to  have  no  limit. 
His  voice  sounded  every  note, 
from  a  low,  piercing  whisper  to 


50        GEORGE   WILLIAM   CURTIS. 

a  shrill,  sonorous  scream.  His 
remarkable  appearance,  further 
more,  enhanced  the  magic  of  his 
speech.  The  tall,  gaunt,  vital 
figure,  the  symmetrical  head,  the 
clustered  hair,— once  black,  now 
faintly  touched  with  gray, — the 
emaciated,  haggard  countenance, 
the  pallid  olive  complexion,  the 
proud  Arabian  features,  the 
mournful  flaming  brown  eyes, 
the  imperial  demeanor  and  wild 
and  lawless  grace—all  those  at 
tributes  of  a  strange,  poetic  per 
sonality  commingled  with  the 
boundless  resources  of  his  elo 
quence  to  rivet  the  spell  of  alto 
gether  exceptional  character  and 
genius.  In  singular  contrast 


GEORGE   WILLIAM   CURTIS.        51 

with  Choate  was  still  another 
great  orator  whom  Curtis  heard, 
—  and  about  whom  he  has 
written,  —  that  consummate 
scholar  and  rhetorician  Edward 
Everett.  There  is  no  statelier 
figure  in  American  history.  If 
Everett  had  been  as  puissant  in 
character  as  he  was  ample  in 
scholarship,  and  as  rich  in  emo 
tion  as  he  was  fine  in  intellect, 
he  would  have  been  the  peerless 
wonder  of  the  age.  He  was  a 
person  of  singular  beauty.  His 
form  was  a  little  above  the  mid 
dle  height  and  perfectly  propor 
tioned.  His  head  was  beautifully 
formed  and  exquisitely  poised. 
His  closely  clustering  hair  was  as 


52        GEORGE   WILLIAM   CURTIS. 

white  as  silver.  His  features 
were  regular;  his  eyes  were  dark; 
his  countenance  was  pale,  refined, 
and  cold.  His  aspect  was  formal 
and  severe.  He  dressed  habitu 
ally  in  black,  —  often  wearing 
around  his  neck  a  thin  gold 
chain,  outside  of  his  coat.  His 
eloquence  was  the  perfection  of 
art.  I  heard  him  often,  and  in 
every  one  of  his  orations, — except 
the  magnificent  one  that  he  gave 
in  Faneuil  Hall  on  the  death  of 
Rufus  Choate,  which  was  su 
preme  and  without  blemish, — his 
art  was  distinctly  obvious.  He 
began  in  a  level  tone  and  with  a 
formal  manner.  He  spoke  with 
out  a  manuscript,  and  whether  his 


GEOEGE   WILLIAM   CURTIS.        53 

speech  was  long  or  short  he  never 
missed  a  word  nor  made  an  error. 
As  he  proceeded  his  countenance 
kindled  and   his   figure   began   to 
move.      With  action  he  was    pro 
fuse,   and    every   one   of   his   ges 
tures  had  the  beauty  of  a  mathe 
matical   curve   and    the   certainty 
of  a  mathematical  demonstration. 
His   movement    suited    his   word, 
his   pauses    were    exactly    timed; 
his    finely   modulated   voice    rose 
and  fell  with  rhythmic   beat;  and 
his  polished    periods  flowed  from 
his  lips  with   limpid   fluency   and 
delicious  cadence.     A  distinguish 
ing   attribute   of   his   art   was    its 
elaborate     complexity.        In     his 
noble     oration      on     Washington, 


54        GEORGE   WILLIAM   CURTIS, 

when  he  came  to  contrast  the 
honesty  of  that  patriot  with  the 
mercenary  greed  of  Marlborough, 
it  was  not  with  words  alone  that 
he  pointed  his  moral,  but  with  a 
graceful,  energetic  blow  upon  his 
pocket  that  mingled  the  jingle 
of  coin  with  the  accents  of  scorn. 
One  speech  of  his  I  remember 
(as  far  back  as  1852)  contained  a 
description  of  the  visible  planets 
and  constellations  in  the  midnight 
sky;  and  his  verbal  pageantry 
was  so  magnificent  that  almost, 
I  thought,  it  might  take  its  place 
among  them. 

Such  was  the  school  of  oratory 
in  which  Curtis  studied  and  in 
which  his  style  was  formed.  It 


GEORGE  WILLIAM  CURTIS.        55 

no  longer  exists.  The  oratory  of 
the  present  day  is  characterized 
by  colloquialism,  familiarity,  and 
comic  anecdote.  Curtis  main 
tained  the  dignity  of  the  old 
order.  You  all  remember  the 
charm  of  his  manner — how  subtle 
it  was,  yet  seemingly  how  sim 
ple  ;  how  completely  it  con 
vinced  and  satisfied  you  ;  how  it 
clarified  your  intelligence  ;  how 
it  ennobled  your  mood.  One 
secret  of  it,  no  doubt,  was  its 
perfect  sincerity.  Noble  himself, 
and  speaking  only  for  right,  and 
truth,  and  beauty,  he  addressed 
nobility  in  others.  That  consid 
eration  would  explain  the  moral 
and  the  genial  authority  of  his 


56        GEORGE   WILLIAM   CURTIS. 

eloquence.  The  total  effect  of  it, 
however,  was  attributable  to  his 
exquisite  and  inexplicable  art. 
He  could  make  an  extempora 
neous  speech,  but  as  a  rule  his 
speeches  were  carefully  prepared. 
They  had  not  always  been 
written,  but  they  had  always 
been  composed  and  considered. 
He  possessed  absolute  self-con 
trol  ;  a  keen  sense  of  symmetry 
and  proportion ;  the  faculty  of 
logical  thought  and  lucid  state 
ment  ;  unbounded  resources  of 
felicitous  illustration  ;  passionate 
earnestness,  surpassing  sweetness 
of  speech,  and  perfect  grace  of 
action.  Like  Everett, — whom  he 
more  closely  resembled  than  he 


GEORGE   WILLIAM  CUETIS.        57 

did  any  other  of  the  great  mas 
ters  of  oratory, — he  could  trust 
his  memory  and  he  could  trust 
his  composure.  He  began  with 
the  natural  deference  of  un 
studied  courtesy  —  serene,  pro 
pitiatory,  irresistibly  winning. 
He  captured  the  eye  and  the  ear 
upon  the  instant,  and  before  he 
had  been  speaking  for  many 
minutes  he  captured  the  heart. 
There  was  not  much  action  in 
his  delivery  ;  there  never  was  any 
artifice.  His  gentle  tones  grew 
earnest.  His  fine  face  became 
illumined.  His  golden  periods 
flowed  with  more  and  more  of 
impetuous  force,  and  the  climax 
of  their  perfect  music  was  always 


58        GEORGE   WILLIAM   CURTIS. 

exactly  identical  with  the  climax 
of  their  thought.  There  always 
was  a  certain  culmination  of 
fervent  power  at  which  he  aimed, 
and  after  that  a  gradual  subsid 
ence  to  the  previous  level  of 
gracious  serenity.  He  created 
and  sustained  the  absolute  illu 
sion  of  spontaneity.  You  never 
felt  that  you  had  been  beguiled 
by  art :  you  only  felt  that  you 
had  been  entranced  by  nature. 
I  never  could  explain  it  to  myself. 
I  cannot  explain  it  to  you.  I  can 
only  say  of  him,  as  he  himself 
said  of  Wendell  Phillips:  "The 
secret  of  the  rose's  sweetness,  of 
the  bird's  ecstasy,  of  the  sunset's 


GEORGE   WILLIAM   CURTIS.        59 

glory — that  is  the  secret  of  genius 
and  of  eloquence." 

While,  however,  the  secret  of 
his  eloquence  was  elusive,  the 
purpose  and  effect  of  it  were  per 
fectly  clear.  It  dignified  the 
subject  and  it  ennobled  the 
hearer.  He  once  told  me  of  a 
conversation,  about  poetry  and 
oratory,  between  himself  and  the 
late  distinguished  senator,  Ros- 
coe  Conkling.  That  statesman, 
having  declared  that,  in  his  judg 
ment,  the  perfection  of  poetry  was 
"  Casablanca,"  by  Mrs.  Hemans 
("  The  boy  stood  on  the  burning 
deck "),  and  the  perfection  of 
oratory  a  passage  in  a  Fourth- 
of-July  oration  by  Charles 


GO       GEORGE  WILLIAM  CURTIS. 

Sprague,  desired  Curtis  to  name 
a  supreme  specimen  of  eloquence. 
"  I  mentioned,"  said  Curtis,  "  a 
passage  in  Emerson's  Dartmouth 
College  oration, — in  which,  how 
ever,  Mr.  Conkling  could  perceive 
no  peculiar  force."  That  passage 
Curtis  proceeded  to  repeat  to  me. 
I  wish  that  I  could  say  it  as  it 
was  said  by  him  ;  but  that  is  im 
possible.  Yet  the  citation  of  it  is 
appropriate,  not  only  as  showing 
his  ideal  but  as  explaining  his 
self-devotion,  not  to  art  alone  but 
to  conscience. 

"You  will  hear  every  day" 
(so  runs  that  pearl  of  noble 
thought  and  feeling)  "the  max 
ims  of  a  low  prudence.  You 


GEORGE   WILLIAM   CURTIS.        61 

will    hear   that    the    first    duty    is 
to    get    land    and    money,    place 
and  name.      'What  is   this  Truth 
you  seek?   what  is  this   Beauty?' 
men   will    ask,  with    derision.      If, 
nevertheless,  God  have  called  any 
of     you     to     explore     truth     and 
beauty,     be     bold,     be     firm,    be 
true  !      When  you   shall    say,    '  As 
others   do,  so  will    I  ;  I  renounce, 
I   am    sorry  for  it,   my   early  vis 
ions  ;    I    must    eat    the    good    of 
the    land    and    let    learning    and 
romantic   expectation    go    until   a 
more    convenient     season  ; ' — then 
dies  the   man   in   you  ;    then   once 
more  perish    the   buds  of  art  and 
poetry  and  science,  as   they  have 
died  already  in  a  thousand,  thou- 


152        GEORGE   WILLIAM   CURTIS. 

sand  hearts.  The  hour  of  that 
choice  is  the  crisis  of  your  his 
tory  :  and  see  that  you  hold 
yourself  fast  by  the  intellect." 
...  It  was  natural  that  Curtis 
should  adopt  that  doctrine.  He 
would  have  evolved  it  if  he 
had  not  found  it.  That  divine 
law  was  in  his  nature,  and  from 
that  divine  law  he  never  swerved. 

How  should  a  man  of  genius 
use  his  gift?  Setting  aside  the 
restrictive  pressure  of  circum 
stance,  two  ways  are  open  to 
him.  He  may  cultivate  himself 
standing  aloof  from  the  world, 
as  Goethe  did  and  as  Tennyson 
did,— aiming  to  make  his  pow 
ers  of  expression  perfect,  and  to 


GEORGE  WILLIAM  CURTIS.       63 

make  his  expression  itself  uni 
versal,  potential,  irresistible,  such 
as  will  sift  into  the  lives  of  the 
human  race  as  sunshine  sifts 
into  the  trees  of  the  forest ;  or 
he  may  take  an  executive  course 
and  yoke  himself  to  the  plough 
and  the  harrow,  aiming  to  ex 
ert  an  immediate  influence  upon 
his  environment.  The  former  way 
is  not  at  once  comprehended  by 
the  world  :  the  latter  is  more 
obvious. 

In  his  poem  of  Retaliation, 
Goldsmith  has  designated  Ed 
mund  Burke  as  a  man  who, 

"  Born  for  the  universe,  narrowed   his 
mind. 


64       GEORGE   WILLIAM   CURTIS. 

And    to    party    gave    up    what  was 
meant   for  mankind." 

It  has  always  seemed  to  me 
that  Curtis  made  one  sacrifice 
when  he  went  into  business,  and 
another  when  he  went  into  poli 
tics.  He  manifested,  indeed,  ster 
ling  character  and  splendid  abil 
ity  in  both  ;  yet  he  did  not,  in 
a  practical  sense,  succeed  in 
either.  The  end  of  his  experi 
ment  in  business  was  a  heavy 
burden  of  debt,  which  he  was 
compelled  to  bear  through  a 
long  period  of  anxious  and 
strenuous  toil.  His  experience 
was  not  the  terrible  experience 
of  Sir  Walter  Scott — that  heroic 
gentleman,  that  supreme  and  in- 


GEORGE   WILL1AAT  CURTIS.        65 

comparable  magician  of  romance  ! 
— but  it  was  an  experience  of 
the  same  kind.  He  released  him 
self  from  his  burden,  justly  and 
honorably,  at  last  ;  but  the  strain 
upon  his  mind  was  an  injury  to 
him,  and  I  believe  that  the  lite 
rature  of  his  country  is  poorer 
because  of  the  sacrifice  that  he 
was  obliged  to  make.  That 
"  Life  of  Mehemet  Ali,"  the  great 
Pasha  of  Egypt,  which  he  de 
signed  to  write,  was  never  writ 
ten.  On  a  day  in  1860  I  met 
him  in  Broadway,  and  he  said 
to  me,  very  earnestly,  "  Take  ad 
vantage  of  the  moment  :  don't 
delay  too  long  that  fine  poem, 
that  great  novel,  that  you  in- 


66       GEOKGE  WILLIAM  CURTIS. 

tend  to  write."  It  was  the  wise 
philosophy  that  takes  heed  of 
the  enormous  values  of  youth  and 
freedom.  It  pleases  some  philos 
ophers,  indeed,  to  believe  that 
a  man  of  letters  will  accomplish 
his  best  expression  when  goaded 
by  what  Shakespeare  calls  "  the 
thorny  point  of  sharp  necessity/' 
That  practice  of  glorifying  hard 
ship  is  sometimes  soothing  to 
human  vanity.  Men  have  thought 
themselves  heroes  because  they 
rise  early.  It  may  possibly  be 
true  of  the  poets  that  they 
learn  in  suffering  what  they 
teach  in  song ;  but  the  suffer 
ing  must  not  be  sordid.  Lit 
erature  was  never  yet  en- 


GEORGE  WILLIAM  CURTIS.       67 

riched  through  the  pressure  of 
want.  The  author  may  write 
more,  because  of  his  need,  but 
he  will  not  write  better.  The 
best  literatures  of  the  world,  the 
literatures  of  Greece  and  Eng 
land,  were  created  in  the  gentlest 
and  most  propitious  climates  of 
the  world.  The  best  individual 
works  in  those  literatures — with 
little  exception — were  produced 
by  writers  whose  physical  cir 
cumstances  were  those  of  com 
fort  and  peace.  Chaucer,  Shake 
speare,  Milton,  Herrick,  Addison, 
Pope,  Byron,  Wordsworth,  Shelley, 
Scott,  Moore,  Lamb,  Thackeray, 
Tennyson — neither  of  them  lacked 


00        GEORGE   WILLIAM   CURTIS. 

the  means  of  reputable  subsist 
ence.  Burns,  fine  as  he  was, 
would  have  been  finer  still,  in  a 
softer  and  sweeter  environment 
of  worldly  circumstance.  Curtis 
was  a  man  of  extraordinary  pa 
tience,  concentration,  and  poise. 
He  accepted  the  conditions  in 
which  he  found  himself,  and  he 
made  the  best  of  them.  His  in 
cessant  industry  and  his  compo 
sure,  to  the  last,  were  prodigious. 
He  never,  indeed,  was  acquainted 
with  want.  The  shackle  that  busi 
ness  imposed  on  him  was  the 
shackle  of  drudgery.  He  was 
compelled  to  write  profusely  and 
without  pause.  His  pen  was  never 
at  rest.  Once — in  1873 — he  broke 


GEORGE   WILLIAM   CURTIS.        69 

down  completely,  and  for  several 
months  he  could  not  work  at  all. 
During  more  than  forty  years, 
however,  he  worked  all  the  time. 
Curtis,  at  his  best,  had  the  grace 
of  Addison,  the  kindness  of  Steele, 
the  simplicity  of  Goldsmith,  and 
the  nervous  force  of  the  incompa 
rable  Sterne.  Writing  under  such 
conditions,  however,  no  man  can 
always  be  at  his  best.  The  won 
der  is  that  his  average  was  so  fine. 
He  attained  to  a  high  and  orderly 
level  of  wise  and  kindly  thought, 
of  gentle  fancy,  and  of  winning 
ease,  and  he  steadily  maintained 
it.  He  had  an  exceptional  faculty 
for  choosing  diversified  themes, 
and  his  treatment  of  them  was  al- 


70        GEORGE  WILLIAM  CURTIS. 

ways  felicitous.  He  wrought  in 
many  moods,  but  always  genially 
and  without  flurry,  and  he  gave 
the  continuous  impression  of  spon 
taneity  and  pleasure.  A  fetter, 
however,  is  not  the  less  a  fetter 
because  it  is  lightly  borne,  and 
whatever  is  easy  to  read  was  hard 
to  write.  It  may  be,  of  course, 
that  the  troublesome  business  ex 
perience  in  the  life  of  Curtis  was 
only  an  insignificant  incident.  It 
may  be  that  he  fulfilled  himself  as 
an  author — leaving  nothing  un 
done  that  he  had  the  power  to  do. 
But  that  is  not  my  reading  of  the 
artistic  mind,  and  it  is  not  my 
reading  of  him.  For  me  the  mist 
was  drawn  too  early  across  those 


GEORGE  WILLIAM   CURTIS.        71 

luminous  and  tender  pictures  of 
the  Orient,  those  haunting  shapes 
and  old  historic  splendors  of  the 
Nile.  For  me  the  rich,  tranquil 
note  of  tender  music  that  breathes 
in  "  Prue  and  I "  was  too  soon 
hushed  and  changed.  Genius  is 
the  petrel,  and  like  the  petrel  it 
loves  the  freedom  of  the  winds 
and  waves. 

"  My  thoughts  like  swallows  skim  the 

main, 

And  bear  my  spirit  back  again, 
Over  the  earth  and  through  the  air — 
A  wild  bird  and  a  wanderer." 

All  thinkers  repudiate  the  nar 
row  philosophy  that  would  regu 
late  one  man's  life  by  the  stand- 


TZ        GEORGE   WILLIAM   CURTIS. 

ard  of  another.  "Be  yourself!" 
is  the  precept  of  the  highest 
wisdom.  Shakespeare  has  writ 
ten  his  Plays.  Milton  has  writ 
ten  his  Epic.  Those  things  can 
not  be  done  again  and  should 
not  be  expected.  The  new  ge 
nius  must  mount  upon  its  own 
wings,  and  hold  its  own  flight, 
and  seek  the  eyrie  that  best  it 
loves.  I  recognize,  and  feel,  and 
honor  the  nobility  of  Curtis  as 
a  citizen  ;  but  I  cannot  cast 
aside  the  regret  that  he  did  not 
dedicate  himself  exclusively  to 
Literature.  Everything  is  rela 
tive.  To  such  a  nature  as  that 
of  Curtis  the  pursuits  of  busi 
ness  and  politics  are  foreign 


GEOKGE   WILLIAM  CURTIS.        73 

and  inappropriate.  He  was  un 
doubtedly  equal  to  all  their 
responsibilities  and  duties ;  but 
he  was  equal  to  much  more — to 
things  different  and  higher — and 
the  practical  service  essential  to 
business  and  politics  did  not 
need  him.  The  State,  indeed, 
needs  the  virtue  that  he  possessed 
— but  needs  it  in  the  form,  not  of 
the  poet  but  the  gladiator,  who, 
when  he  goes  rejoicing  to  battle, 
has  no  harp  to  leave  in  silence 
and  no  garlands  to  cast  unheeded 
in  the  dust.  I  would  send  Saint 
Peter,  with  his  sword,  to  the  pri 
mary  meeting;  I  would  not  send 
the  apostle  John.  The  organist 
should  not  be  required  to  blow 


74        GEORGE   WILLIAM   CURTIS. 

the  bellows.  Curtis  was,  by  na 
ture,  a  man  of  letters.  His  fac 
ulty  in  that  direction  was  pro 
digious.  So  good  a  judge  as 
Thackeray,  looking  at  him  as  a 
young  man,  declared  him  to  be 
the  most  auspicious  of  all  our 
authors.  It  is  a  great  vocation, 
and  because  its  force,  like  that  of 
nature,  is  deep,  slow,  silent,  and 
elemental,  it  is  the  most  tremen 
dous  force  concerned  in  human 
affairs.  Shall  I  try  to  say  what  it 
is?  The  mission  of  the  man  of 
letters  is  to  touch  the  heart ;  to 
kindle  the  imagination  ;  to  en 
noble  the  mind.  He  is  the  inter 
preter  between  the  spirit  of 
beauty  that  is  in  nature  and  the 


GEORGE    WILLIAM   CURTIS.       75 

general  intelligence  and  sensibility 
of  mankind.  He  sets  to  music 
the  pageantry  and  the  pathos  of 
human  life,  and  he  keeps  alive  in 
the  soul  the  holy  enthusiasm  of 
devotion  to  the  ideal.  He  honors 
and  perpetuates  heroic  conduct, 
and  he  teaches,  by  many  devices 
of  art — by  story,  and  poem,  and 
parable,  and  essay,  and  drama — 
purity  of  life,  integrity  to  man, 
and  faith  in  God.  He  is  continu 
ally  reminding  you  of  the  good 
ness  and  loveliness  to  which  you 
may  attain  ;  continually  causing 
you  to  see  what  opportunities  of 
nobility  your  life  affords  ;  continu 
ally  delighting  you  with  high 
thoughts  and  beautiful  pictures. 


76       GEORGE  WILLIAM  CURTIS. 

He  does  not  preach  to  you.  He 
does  not  attempt  to  regulate  your 
specific  actions.  He  does  not 
assail  you  with  the  hysterical 
scream  of  the  reformer.  He  does 
not  carp,  and  vex,  and  meddle. 
He  whispers  to  you,  in  your  silent 
hours,  of  love  and  heroism  and 
holiness  and  immortality,  and  you 
are  refreshed  and  strong,  and 
come  forth  into  the  world  smiling 
at  fortune  and  bearing  blessings 
in  your  hands.  On  these  bleak 
February  nights,  with  the  breakers 
clashing  on  our  icy  coasts  and  the 
trumpets  of  the  wind  resounding 
in  our  chimneys,  how  sweet  it  has 
been,  sitting  by  the  evening  lamp, 
to  turn  the  pages  of  "  The  Tern- 


GEORGE   WILLIAM   CURTIS.        77 

pest,"  or  "The  Antiquary,"  or 
"  Old  Mortality,"  or  "  Henry  Es 
mond,"  or  "The  Idylls  of  the 
King,"  while  the  treasured  faces 
of  Shakespeare  and  Scott  and 
Thackeray  and  Tennyson  looked 
down  from  the  library  walls ! 
How  sweet  to  read  those  ten 
der,  romantic,  imaginative  pages 
of  "  Prue  and  I,"  in  which  the 
pansies  and  the  rosemary  bloom 
forever,  and  to  think  of  him  who 
wrote  them  ! 

"  His  presence  haunts  this   room   to 
night, — 
A  form   of  mingled   mist    and  light 

From  that  far  coast ! 
Welcome  beneath  this  roof  of  mine! 
Welcome  !  this  vacant  chair  is  thine, 
Dear  guest  and  ghost." 


78       GEORGE   WILLIAM   CURTIS. 

But  whether  the  choice  that 
Curtis  made  was  a  sacrifice  or 
not,  we  know  he  made  it  and 
we  know  why  he  made  it.  Pre 
figured  in  his  character  and  his 
writings,  at  the  outset,  and  illus 
trated  in  all  his  conduct,  was 
the  supreme  law  of  his  being — 
practical  consideration  for  others. 
The  trouble  of  the  world  was 
his  trouble.  The  disciple  of  An 
drew  Marvel  could  not  rest  at 
ease  in  the  summer  -  land  of 
Keats.  His  heart  was  there;  but 
his  duty,  as  he  saw  it,  steadily 
called  him  away. 

"  Some   life  of  men   unblest 
He    knew,   which    made    him    droop, 
and   fill'd   his   head. 


GEORGE  WILLIAM  CURTIS.        79 

He  went;  his  piping  took  a  troubled 

sound, 
Of    storms    that    rage    outside     our 

happy  ground ; 
He  could  not  wait  their  passing;   he 

is   dead." 

He  would  have  rejoiced  in 
writing  more  books  like  "  Prue 
and  I;"  but  the  virtuous  glory 
of  the  commonwealth  and  the 
honor  and  happiness  of  the  peo 
ple  were  forever  present  to  him, 
as  the  first  and  the  most  solemn 
responsibility.  When  his  proto 
type,  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  on  that 
fatal  September  morning,  three 
hundred  and  seven  years  ago, 
set  forth  for  the  field  of  battle 
at  Zutphen,  he  met  a  fellow- 


80       GEORGE  WILLIAM  CURTIS. 

soldier  riding  in  light  armoi, 
and  thereupon  he  cast  away  a 
portion  of  his  own  mail — and 
in  so  doing,  as  the  event  proved, 
he  cast  away  his  life — in  order 
that  he  might  be  no  better  pro 
tected  than  his  friend.  In  like 
manner  Curtis  would  have  no 
advantage  for  himself,  nor  even 
the  semblance  of  advantage, 
that  was  not  shared  by  others. 
He  could  not — with  his  superla 
tive  moral  fervor — dedicate  him 
self  exclusively  to  letters,  while 
there  was  so  much  wrong  in  the 
world  that  clamored  for  him  to 
do  his  part  in  setting  it  right. 
He  believed  that  his  direct,  prac 
tical  labor  was  essential  and 


GEORGE  WILLIAM   CURTIS.        81 

would  avail,  and  he  was  eager 
to  bestow  it.  Men  of  strong 
imagination  begin  life  with  il 
limitable  ideals,  with  vast  illu 
sions,  with  ardent  and  generous 
faith.  They  are  invariably  dis 
appointed,  and  they  are  usually 
embittered.  Curtis  was  con 
trolled  less  by  his  imagination 
than  by  his  moral  sense.  He 
had  ideals,  but  they  were  based 
on  reason.  However  much  he 
may  have  loved  to  muse  and 
dream,  he  saw  the  world  as  a 
fact  and  not  as  a  fancy.  He 
was  often  saddened  by  the  spec 
tacle  of  human  littleness,  but, 
broadly  and  generally,  he  was 
not  disappointed  in  mankind, 


82        GEORGE   WILLIAM  CURTIS. 

and  he  never  became  embittered. 
The  belief  in  human  nature  with 
which  he  began  remained  his 
belief  when  he  ended.  Nothing 
could  shake  his  conviction  that 
man  is  inherently  and  intrinsi 
cally  good.  He  believed  in  the 
people.  He  believed  in  earthly 
salvation  for  the  poor,  the  weak, 
and  the  oppressed.  He  believed 
in  chivalry  toward  woman.  He 
believed  in  refinement,  gentle 
ness,  and  grace.  He  believed 
that  the  world  is  growing  better 
and  not  worse.  He  believed  in 
the  inevitable,  final  triumph  of 
truth  and  right  over  falsehood 
and  wrong.  He  believed  in  free 
dom,  chanty,  justice,  hope,  and 


GEORGE  WILLIAM  CUBTIS.        83 

love.  The  last  line  that  fell 
from  the  dying  pen  of  Long 
fellow  might  have  been  the  last 
word  that  fell  from  the  dying 
lips  of  Curtis:  "  Tis  daylight 
everywhere !" 

Upon  the  spirit  in  which  he 
served  the  state  no  words  can 
make  so  clear  a  comment  as  his 
own.  "  There  is  no  nobler  am 
bition,"  he  said,  "  than  to  fill  a 
great  office  greatly."  His  esti 
mate  of  Bryant  culminates  in 
the  thought  that  "  no  man,  no 
American,  living  or  dead,  has 
more  truly  and  amply  illustrated 
the  scope  and  fidelity  of  re 
publican  citizenship."  .  .  .  "  The 
great  argument  for  popular  gov- 


84        GEORGE  WILLIAM   CURTIS. 

ernment,"  he  declared,  in  his 
fine  eulogy  on  Wendell  Phil 
lips,  "  is  not  the  essential  right 
eousness  of  a  majority,  but  the 
celestial  law  which  subordinates 
the  brute  force  of  numbers  to 
intellectual  and  moral  ascend 
ency."  And  his  stately  tribute 
to  the  character  of  Washington 
reached  a  climax  in  his  impas 
sioned  homage  to  its  lofty  se 
renity,  its  moral  grandeur,  and 
its  majestic  repose.  The  quality 
of  every  man  may  be  divined 
from  the  objects  of  his  genu 
ine  devotion.  There  could  be 
no  doubt  of  the  patriotism  of 
Curtis  :  and  I  will  make  bold  to 
say  that>  in  the  conditions  which 


GEORGE   WILLIAM   CURTIS.        85 

now  confront  the  American  Re 
public, — conditions  more  perilous 
than  ever  yet  existed  in  its 
experience  (vicious  immigration, 
the  dangerous  Indian,  the  still 
more  dangerous  negro,  racial 
antagonism,  discontented  labor, 
socialism,  communism,  anarchy, 
a  licentious  press,  a  tottering 
church,  ambitious  Roman  Cathol 
icism,  the  Irish  vote,  boss  rule, 
ring  rule,  corruption  in  office, 
levity,  profanity,  and  a  generally 
low  state  of  public  morals), — it 
was  no  slight  thing  that  such 
a  man  as  Curtis  should  have 
testified,  to  the  last,  his  confi 
dence  in  the  future  of  the  Ame 
rican  people,  and  to  the  last 


86       GEORGE   WILLIAM  CUETIS. 

should  have  devoted  his  splen 
did  powers  more  largely  to  their 
practical  service  than  to  any 
thing  else.  Fortunate  is  the 
man  who  can  close  the  awfully 
true  book  of  "  Ecclesiastes"  and 
forget  its  terrible  lessons  !  For 
tunate  is  the  people  that  has  the 
example,  the  sympathy,  the  sup 
port,  and  the  guidance  of  such 
a  man !  If  the  altogether  high 
and  noble  principles  that  Curtis 
advocated  could  prevail,  then  in 
deed  the  Republic  that  Wash 
ington  conceived  would  be  a 
glorious  reality.  When  a  wise 
and  final  check  is  placed  upon 
the  influence  of  mere  numbers 
— then,  and  not  till  then,  will 


GEORGE   WILLIAM   CUBTIS.        87 

the  ideal  of  Washington  be  ful 
filled  ;  then,  and  not  till  then, 
will  the  Republic  be  safe.  There 
is  no  belief  more  delusive  and  per 
nicious  than  the  belief  that  virtue 
and  wisdom  are  resident  in  the 
will  of  the  multitude. 

If,  therefore,  Curtis  made  a 
sacrifice  in  turning  from  the  Muse 
to  labor  for  the  commonwealth, 
at  least  it  was  not  made  in  vain. 
Nor  must  it  be  forgotten  that — 
despite  his  preoccupation  as  a 
publicist  and  as  the  incumbent 
of  many  unpaid  and  most  exact 
ing  offices — his  contributions  to 
literature,  especially  in  the  domain 
of  the  Essay,  were  extraordinary 
and  brilliant.  When,  in  1846,  he 


88        GEOEGE   WILLIAM   CURTIS. 

began  his  literary  career,  a  young 
man  of  twenty-two,  American  lit 
erature  had  begun  to  assume  the 
proportions  of  a  substantial  and 
impressive  fabric.  Paulding,  Ir 
ving,  Dana,  Bryant,  Cooper,  and 
Percival  were  in  the  zenith.  Long- 
fellowand  Whittier  were  ascending. 
Hawthorne  was  slowly  becoming 
an  auspicious  figure.  Halleck  and 
George  Fen  no  Hoffman  were  reign 
ing  poets.  Poe  had  nearly  finished, 
in  penniless  obscurity,  his  desolate 
strife.  Holmes,  aged  37,  was  but 
little  beyond  the  threshold  :  and 
the  fine  genius  of  Stoddard  was 
yet  unknown.  Griswold  still  held 
the  sceptre,  which  Willis  was  pres 
ently  to  inherit.  Allston  and  Paul- 


GEORGE   WILLIAM   CUKTIS,        89 

ding  were  67  years  old  ;  Irving  was 
63  ;  R.  H.  Dana  was  59  ;  Sprague 
54;  Bryant  51;  Drake,  Halleck,  and 
Percival  50.  Emerson  was  only  42. 
Into  that  company  Curtis  entered, 
as  a  boy  among  graybeards.  Au 
thors  were  more  numerous  than 
they  had  been  thirty  years  earlier, 
but  they  were  less  numerous  than 
they  are  now,  and,  perhaps,  less 
distinctive.  It  was  easier  to  ac 
quire  literary  reputation  then  than 
it  is  at  present;  but  genuine  lite 
rary  reputation  was  never  easily 
obtained.  Curtis  made  a  new 
mark.  In  his  oriental  travels  the 
observation  was  large  ;  the  fancy 
delicate  ;  the  feeling  deep ;  the 
touch  light.  Then  came,  in  Put- 


90        GEORGE   WILLIAM   CURTIS. 

nam's  Magazine,  between  1852  and 
1854,  the  satirical  "  Potiphar  Pa 
pers"  and  the  romantic  "  Prue  and 
I  " — the  most  imaginative  and  the 
loveliest  of  his  books.  After  that 
the  limitations  of  circumstance  be 
gan  to  constrain  him.  He  assumed 
the  Easy  Chair  of  Harper  s  Maga 
zines  1854, — receiving  it  from  that 
Horatian  classic  of  American  letters 
Donald  G.  Mitchell,  by  whom  it 
had  just  been  started, — and  he  oc 
cupied  it  till  the  last.  In  Harper  s 
Weekly,  in  1859-60,  he  wrote  the 
novel  of  "  Trumps" — a  work  which 
will  transmit  to  a  distant  future 
that  typical  American  politician, 
prosperous  and  potential  yester 
day,  to-day,  and  forever,  General 


GEORGE   WILLIAM   CURTIS.        91 

Arcularius  Belch.  In  Harper  s  Ba 
zar  he  wrote  a  series  of  papers,  ex 
tending  over  a  period  of  four  years, 
called  "Manners  on  the  Road" — 
the  Road  being  life,  and  Manners 
being  the  conduct  of  people  in 
their  use  of  it.  In  those  papers 
and  in  the  Easy  Chair  the  Addi- 
sonian  drift  of  his  mind  was  fully 
displayed.  Those  Essays  do  not 
excel  The  Spectator  in  thought, 
or  learning,  or  humor,  or  inven 
tion,  or  in  the  thousand  felicities 
of  a  courtly,  leisurely,  lace-ruffle 
style  ;  yet  they  are  level  with  The 
Spectator  in  dignity  of  character 
and  beauty  of  form  ;  they  surpass 
it  in  vitality  ;  and  they  surpass  it 
in  fertility  of  theme,  sustained  af- 


92        GEORGE   WILLIAM  CUBTIS. 

fluence  of  feeling,  and  diversity 
of  literary  grace.  The  Spectator 
contains  635  papers,  and  it  was 
written  by  several  hands,  though 
mostly  by  the  hand  of  Addison, 
between  March  1710  and  December 
1714, — a  period  of  four  years  and 
nine  months.  The  Easy  Chair  con 
tains  over  2500  articles,  and  it  was 
written  by  Curtis  alone  and  was 
prolonged,  with  but  one  short  in 
termission,  for  38  years. 

It  was  Wesley,  the  Methodist 
preacher,  who  objected  to  the 
custom  of  letting  the  devil  have 
all  the  good  music.  Curtis  was  a 
moralist  who  objected  to  the  cus 
tom  of  letting  the  rakes  have  all 
the  graces.  Good  men  are  some 


GEORGE  WILLIAM   CURTIS.        93 

times  so  insipid  that  they  make 
virtue  tedious.  In  Curtis,  not 
withstanding  his  invincible  com 
posure  and  perfect  decorum,  there 
was  a  strain  of  the  gypsy.  He 
had  "heard  the  chimes  at  mid 
night  "  and  he  had  not  forgotten 
their  music.  He  had  been  a  wan 
dering  minstrel  in  his  youth,  and 
he  had  twanged  the  light  guitar 
beneath  the  silver  moon.  As  you 
turn  the  leaves  of  Lester  Wallack's 
"  Memories  of  Fifty  Years,"  you 
find  Curtis  to  be  one  of  them  ; 
you  come  upon  him  very  pleas 
antly  in  the  society  of  that  brill 
iant  actor,  and  you  hear  their 
youthful  voices  blended  —  the 
robust  yet  gentle  genius  of 


94        GEORGE   WILLIAM   CURTIS. 

Thackeray  being  a  listener — in 
the  golden  cadence  of  Ben  Jon- 
son's  lovely  Grecian  lyric  : 

"  Drink  to  me  only  with  thine  eyec, 

And  I  will  pledge  with  mine ; 
Or  leave  a  kiss  but  in  the  cup. 
And  I'll  not  look  for  wine." 

Throughout  his  life  Curtis  never 
lost  the  capacity  for  sentiment ; 
the  love  of  music  ;  the  worship  of 
art  and  beauty;  the  morning 
glow  of  chivalrous  emotion.  He 
never  became  ascetic.  He  was  a 
Puritan  but  he  was  not  a  bigot. 
He  made  the  jest  sparkle.  He 
mingled  in  the  dance.  Without 
excess,  but  sweetly  and  genially, 


GEORGE   WILLIAM   CURTIS.        95 

he  filled  a  place  at  the  festival. 
From  his  hand,  in  the  remote  days 
of  the  Castle  Garden  Opera,  the 
glorious  Jenny  Lind  received  her 
first  bouquet  in  America ;  and 
from  his  lips,  in  the  last  year  of 
his  life,  her  illustrious  memory 
received  its  sweetest  tribute. 
When  he  heard  the  distant  note 
of  the  street-organ  his  spirit 
floated  away  in  a  dream  of  "  the 
mellow  richness  of  Italy  :"  yet  he 
was  a  man  who  could  have  rid 
den  with  Cromwell's  troopers  at 
Naseby,  and  given  his  life  for 
freedom.  There  was  no  plainness 
of  living  to  which  he  was  not 
suited,  and  equally  there  was  no 
opulence  of  culture  and  art  that 


96        GEORGE  WILLIAM  CURTIS. 

he  could  not  wear  with  grace. 
The  extremes  of  his  character 
explain  its  power.  There  was  no 
seventy  and  no  sacrifice  of  which 
he  was  not  capable,  in  his  scorn 
and  detestation  of  evil  and  wrong; 
but  for  human  frailty  he  had  more 
than  the  tenderness  of  woman. 
He  knelt  with  a  disciple's  rever 
ence  at  the  austere  shrine  of 
Washington  :  yet  his  eloquence 
blazed  like  morning  sunlight 
upon  a  wilderness  of  roses  when 
he  touched  the  rugged,  mournful, 
humorous,  pathetic  story  of  Rob 
ert  Burns. 

In  this  evanescent  and  vanish 
ing  world  one  thing,  and  only 
one  thing,  endures,— the  spiritual 


GEORGE   WILLIAM   CURTIS.        97 

influence  of  good.  Out  of  na 
ture,  out  of  literature,  out  of  art, 
out  of  character,  that  alone, 
transmuted  into  conduct,  sur 
vives  ensphered  when  all  the  rest 
has  perished.  We  are  accus 
tomed,  unconsciously,  to  speak  of 
our  possessions  and  our  depriva 
tions  as  if  we  ourselves  were 
permanent  ;  not  remembering 
that,  in  a  very  little  while,  our 
places  also  will  be  empty.  Our 
friend  is  dead— our  champion, 
our  benefactor,  our  guide  !  Life 
will  be  lonelier  without  his  pres 
ence.  The  streets  in  which  he 
used  to  walk  seem  vacant.  The 
very  air  of  our  silent  and  slum 
berous  island,  musing  at  the 


98       GEORGE    WILLIAM  CURTIS. 

mysterious  gateways  of  the  sea, 
seems  more  brooding  and  more 
solitary.  Yet,  being  dead,  he  far 
more  truly  lives  than  we  do,  and 
in  far  more  exceeding  glory,  be 
cause  in  that  potential  influence 
which  can  never  die.  Still  in 
our  rambles  he  will  meet  us,  with 
the  old  familiar  look  that  always 
seemed  to  say,  '  You  also  are  a 
prince,  an  emperor,  a  man  ;  you 
also  possess  this  wonderful  heri 
tage  of  beauty,  and  honor,  and 
immortal  life.'  Still  in  the 
homes  of  the  poor  will  dwell  the 
memory  of  his  inexhaustible 
goodness.  Still  in  the  abodes  of 
the  rich  will  live  the  sweetness 
and  the  power  of  his  benignant 


GEOEGE   WILLIAM   CURTIS.        99 

example  :  and  still,  when  we 
have  passed  away  and  have  been 
forgotten,  a  distant  posterity, 
remembering  the  illustrious  ora 
tor,  the  wise  and  gentle  philoso 
pher,  the  serene  and  delicate 
literary  artist,  the  incorruptible 
patriot,  the  supreme  gentleman, 
will  cherish  the  writings,  will 
revere  the  character,  and  will 
exult  in  the  splendid  tradition  of 
George  William  Curtis. 

I  shall  close  this  address  with 
the  Monody  that  I  wrote  not  long 
after  his  death: 

I. 

ALL  the  flowers  were  in  their  pride 
On  the  day  when  Rupert  died. 


100     GEORGE  WILLIAM   CURTIS. 

Dreamily,  through  dozing  trees 
Sighed  the  idle  summer  breeze. 

Wild  birds,  glancing  through  the  air, 
Spilled  their  music  everywhere. 

Not  one  sign  of  mortal  ill 

Told  that  his  great  heart  was  still. 

Now  the  grass  he  loved  to  tread 
Murmurs  softly  o'er  his  head : 
Now  the  great  green  branches  wave 
High  above  his  lonely  grave: 
While  in  grief's  perpetual  speech 
Roll  the  breakers  on  the  beach. 
O  my  comrade,  O  my  friend, 
Must  this  parting  be  the  end? 

II. 

Weave   the   shroud    and    spread    the 

pall ! 
Night  and  silence  cover  all. 


GEORGE   WILLIAM   CURTIS.     101 

Howsoever  we  deplore, 
They  who  go  return  no  more. 
Never  from  that  unknown  track 
Floats  one  answering  whisper  back. 

Nature,  vacant,  will  not  heed 

Lips  that  grieve  or  hearts  that  bleed. 

Wherefore  now  should  mourning  word 
Or  the  tearful  dirge  be  heard? 

How  shall  words  our  grief  abate? — 
Call  him  noble;  call  him  great; 
Say  that  faith,  now  gaunt  and  grim, 
Once  was  fair  because  of  him; 
Say  that  goodness,  round  his  way, 
Made  one  everlasting  day; 
Say  that  beauty's  heavenly  flame 
Bourgeoned  wheresoe'er  he  came; 

Say  that  all  life's  common  ways 
Were  made  glorious  in  his  gaze ; 


102      GEORGE   WILLIAM   CURTIS. 

Say  he  gave  us,  hour  by  hour, 
Hope  and  patience,  grace  and  power; 

Say  his  spirit  was  so  true 
That  it  made  us  noble  too; — 

What  is  this,  but  to  declare 
Life's  bereavement,  Love's  despair? 

What  is  this,  but  just  to  say 
All  we  loved  is  torn  away? 

Weave    the    shroud    and    spread    the 

pall! 
Night  and  silence  cover  all. 

in. 

O  my  comrade,  O  my  friend, 
Must  this  parting  be  the  end? 

Heart  and  hope  are  growing  old : 
Dark    the    night    comes    down,    and 
cold: 


GEORGE   WILLIAM   CURTIS.     103 

Few  the  souls  that  answer  mine, 
And  no  voice  so  sweet  as  thine. 

Desert  wastes  of  care  remain- 
Yet  thy  lips  speak  not  again ! 

Gray  eternities  of  space — 
Yet  nowhere  thy  living  face! 

Only  now  the  lonesome  blight, 
Heavy  day  and  haunted  night. 

All  the  light  and  music  reft — 
Only  thought  and  memory  left! 

Peace,     fond     mourner!      This     thy 

boon, — 
Thou  thyself  must  follow  soon. 

Peace,— and  let  repining  go! 
Peace, — for  Fate  will  have  it  so. 

Vainly  now  his  praise  is  said; 
Vain  the  garland  for  his  head: 


104     G-LJGKGE    WILLIAM    CUKTIS. 

Yet  is  comfort's  shadow  cast 
From  the  kindness  of  the  past. 

All  my  love  could  do  to  cheer 
Warmed  his  heart  when  he  was  here. 

Honor's  plaudit,  friendship's  vow- 
Did  not  coldly  wait  till  now. 

O  my  comrade,  O  my  friend, 
If  this  parting  be  the  end, 

Yet  I  hold  my  life  divine 

To  have  known  a  soul  like  thine: 

And  I  hush  the  low  lament, 
In  submission,  penitent. 

Still  the  sun  is  in  the  skies: 

He  sets— but  I  have  seen  him  rise! 


APPENDIX. 


The  following  tribute  to  the  memory  of 
Curtis  was  written  by  me,  in  the  New 
York  Tribune  of  September  I,  1892, — the 
morning  after  his  death. — W.  W. 

"  AMONG  American  men  of  let 
ters  no  man  of  this  gener 
ation  has  so  completely  filled  as 
Curtis  did  the  ideal  of  clear  in 
tellect,  pure  taste,  moral  pur 
pose,  chivalry  of  feeling,  and 
personal  refinement  and  grace. 
From  the  moment  of  his  en 
trance  into  public  life,  as  a 
speaker, — now  nearly  forty  years 
ago, —  he  has  entirely  satisfied, 


106     GEORGE  WILLIAM   CURTIS. 

especially  for  the  mind  of  sensi 
tive  and  generous  youth,  the 
highest  conception  of  purity, 
dignity,  and  sweetness.  His 
noble  presence  and  serious  de 
meanor,  the  repose  and  sweep 
and  sway  of  his  eloquence,  and 
the  crystal  clearness  of  his  liter 
ary  style  were  all  felt  to  be  nat 
urally  and  spontaneously  repre 
sentative  of  an  exalted  person 
ality.  Upon  all  public  occasions 
the  tremulous  sensibility  of  his 
feelings  and  the  inflexible  reti 
cence  of  his  mind  were  not  less 
remarkable  than  the  absolute 
propriety  and  perfect  symmetry 
of  his  language.  In  the  element 
of  felicity  few  orators  have 


GEORGE   WILLIAM   CUETIS.     107 

equalled  him  and  no  orator  has 
surpassed  him.  He  was,  of 
course,  an  artist ;  but  the  soul 
of  his  art  was  the  virtuous  and 
wise  sincerity  of  a  noble  nature. 
The  work  was  fine,  but  the  man 
was  finer  than  the  work  ;  and  of 
all  the  charms  that  he  exerted 
none  was  so  great  as  that  of  his 
pure  and  gentle  spirit.  His 
manners,  indeed,  were  so  unde 
monstrative  and  so  polished  as 
to  seem  cold  ;  but  all  who  knew 
him,  all  who  ever  listened  to  his 
speech,  felt  and  owned  in  him 
the  spell  of  inherent,  genuine 
nobility. 

There    is,  indeed,  a   conception 
of   character   and   conduct   which 


108     GEORGE  WILLIAM  CURTIS. 

assumes  that  when  a  man  is  not 
effusive  and  familiar  he  is  aristo 
cratic.  Curtis  was  reticent :  yet 
no  one  ever  more  profoundly  and 
practically  believed  than  he  did 
in  the  brotherhood  of  humanity. 
He  was  republican,  through  and 
through.  His  voice  and  his  pen, 
his  personal  influence  and  his  priv 
ate  means,  were  always  enlisted  in 
the  cause  of  the  helpless,  the  op 
pressed,  and  the  weak.  Perhaps 
the  best  oration  he  ever  delivered 
was  that  upon  Robert  Burns — in 
which  every  word  thrills  with  the 
pulsation  of  human  kindness,  and 
of  which  the  spirit  is  love  for  every 
virtue  and  pity  for  every  weak 
ness  of  the  human  race.  But  his 


GEOKGE  WILLIAM  CUETIS.      109 

theory  of  equality  was  not  deg 
radation.  He  desired,  and  he 
labored,  to  equalize  the  race,  not 
by  dragging  people  down,  but 
by  raising  them  up.  If  he  was 
fastidious  and  reticent,  he  did 
not  deny  to  others  the  right  to 
be  fastidious  and  reticent  also. 
In  this  he  was  of  the  kindred  of 
Bryant,  and  Washington  Irving, 
and  Longfellow,  and  Emerson, — 
with  whom  he  had  much  in 
common,  and  the  spotless  stand 
ard  of  whose  art  and  life  he  loy 
ally  and  brilliantly  sustained  and 
has  transmitted  in  light  and 
beauty  to  all  the  younger  men  of 
letters  who  succeed  him.  In  all 
that  the  word  implies  he  was  a 


110     GEORGE   WILLIAM   CURTIS. 

gentleman;  and  there  is  no 
worthier  or  more  expressive  trib 
ute  that  can  be  brought  to  any 
man's  coffin  than  the  tear  that 
will  not  be  repressed  for  life 
long  devotion  to  duty,  for  good 
ness  that  never  faltered  and 
kindness  that  never  failed. 

In  the  presence  of  death  and 
under  the  instant  sense  of  be 
reavement  it  is  not  easily  possi 
ble  to  speak  with  cold  judgment 
of  his  achievements  as  a  writer. 
He  was  the  master  of  a  style  as 
pure  as  that  of  Addison  and  as 
flexible  as  that  of  Lamb.  In  its 
characteristic  quality,  however,  it 
does  not  resemble  either  of  those 
models.  The  influences  that 


GEORGE   WILLIAM   CURTIS.      Ill 

were  most  intimately  concerned 
in  forming  his  mind  were  Emer 
son  and  Thackeray.  He  had  the 
broad  vision  and  the  fresh, 
brave,  aspiring  spirit  of  the  one, 
and  he  combined  with  those  the 
satirical  playfulness,  the  cordial 
detestation  of  shams,  and  the 
subtle  commingling  of  raillery 
and  tender  sentiment  that  are 
characteristic  of  the  other.  His 
habitual  mood  was  pensive,  not 
passionate,  and  he  was  essen 
tially  more  a  contemplative 
philosopher  than  either  an  advo 
cate,  a  partisan,  a  reformer,  or  a 
politician — all  of  which  parts  he 
sometimes  was  constrained  to 
assume.  He  was  born  for  the 


112     GEORGE  WILLIAM   CURTIS. 

vocation   of    letters   and   his   best 
success  was  gained  in  the  literary 
art.      His    literature    will    survive 
in  the  affectionate    admiration    of 
his    countrymen     long    after    his 
political     papers     are     forgotten. 
'Prue  and  I'  is   one  of  the  most 
delicate,    dreamlike   books   in  our 
language,   and    the   spirit   that   it 
discloses   is   full  of   romance,  ten 
derness    and   beauty.     The    affec 
tionate    heart,    the     lively    fancy, 
and    the    subtle    literary    instinct 
of     Goldsmith     could     not    have 
made   it   finer.     As   an   orator   he 
had  all  the  grace  and  more  than 
the  emotion  of  Everett,  whose  tra 
dition   he   has   perpetuated.      His 
rhetoric  was   not   merely  a  sheen 


GEORGE   WILLIAM  CURTIS.      113 

of  words,  but  it  burned  and  shim 
mered  with  the  vital  splendor  of  a 
sincere  heart.  He  was  in  earnest 
in  all  that  he  said  and  did.  He 
has  had  a  long  and  good  life,  and 
his  name  is  noble  forever. 


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